


Uncovering

by afullmargin (anemptymargin), dichromaniac (Pengwiny)



Series: You Got Me Brainwashed [2]
Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series), Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Hypnosis, Just a big collection of “how to be a bad person”, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Vampire Sex, Vampires are Monsters y’all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28833735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/pseuds/afullmargin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pengwiny/pseuds/dichromaniac
Summary: After sending Valerie home, Robert doesn’t expect to see her again. But she’s not going to let a little thing like memory loss stop her from pursuing what she wants.
Relationships: Robert Garrick/Original Character
Series: You Got Me Brainwashed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077683





	1. Missed Shifts and Missing Memories

Andy's surprised to be covering Val's shift, and more irritated than anything when she's late to the second shift after leaving with the mysterious Mr. Garrick. Still, when she makes it in he's relieved to see her put together and looking at least a little sheepish. 

"Well if it isn't ‘little miss run off with a guy and take the wine but leave her phone and purse.’” He grouses, holding up her bag and dangling it over the bar. "I'll give it back after you tell me all the gory details of being fucked into taking a sick day. Was he super freaky? Did he whisk you away to a fancy hotel with naked serving boys? Have you been experiencing absolute pleasure for the last two days? I'm dying for tea. Spill."

Val rolls her eyes and makes a half-hearted jump to try and reach her purse. “If you wanted to know that badly, you would’ve come check on me, Andrew.” She’s mostly teasing, but there are a few inconsistencies to her memories and Andy’s lack of follow up rubs against some not-quite-healed mental wounds.

She sighs, takes a seat on the barstool and sweeps her hair up into a messy ponytail. “Fine,” she says grinning, her issues aren’t Andy’s fault and she’s been dying to get some more information on one Robert Garrick. “Fancy hotel, check, super freaky, maybe, naked serving boys, unfortunately not and I didn’t even spend the night.” She holds out her hand, “Purse, phone, please?”

Rolling his eyes right back, Andy gives an all-suffering sigh. “The details are overwhelming.” He deadpans, handing it over no less. “For the record, I would have texted… but, you know. Someone was in a hurry.”

He leans against the bar in front of her, it’s a quiet night so far, and he can take a few minutes to relax and dish before she gets to doing her job. “So, when I hear one-night-stand and taking a day off the next day, it kinda leads me one of two ways. So, either he was an amazing fuck that left you so exhausted you couldn’t move for a day, or he pulled some funny business and I’m about to add another name to my fantasy hit list. Even if he’s my best tipper.”

Looking her over a little closer, he tries to size her up and read the signs the best he can. She looks good? Like she’s had a great night’s sleep and maybe touched up her hair or something. Still, he’s not about to let her coast on that pathetic lack of details.

Val shakes her head, “No, no nothing like that, Andy. Well,” she chuckles lightly, “he was amazing.” She lowers her head, conspiratorially across the bartop, “Sucks cock like a champ.” She winks up at her best friend hopeful that maybe now she’s confirmed a long held theory, he won’t push too much harder or ask questions she frankly doesn’t have the answers to. 

“And I shall let you dwell on that mental image while I go lock my purse up, assuming of course, you didn’t already raid it for beer money,” she grins widely at Andy, tongue poking out against her upper lip and all. She walks to the back, shoves her purse into the locker everyone else knows is her favorite and locks it with her cheap pink Masterlock. She should tell him about the candle, she still can’t figure out how Robert rigged that illusion. She won’t tell him about the brand-new-body jewelry that magically appeared, no matter how delightful the new additions to her person are. She loves Andy, but he’s a bit of an information hound and he’ll want details and she just wants to keep some things to herself. She puts her phone in her pocket, dead of course, and walks through the employee entrance to behind the bar. Val finds the hidden charger cord by the POS, plugs in her phone and brandishes her most dazzling “work” smile. 

“So how’s that mental image treating you, sweetheart?” she asks her possibly still gobsmacked friend. 

Oh gosh. Of course he is. Lips like that… 

He drifts for a moment on the mental image because damn he really should have considered asking for a hall pass, and then is spurred into actually doing his job and in the middle of pouring out a round of spritzers for a relatively tame bachelorette party when she reemerges. “I am now officially dead inside.”

By the time he returns with a tip and penis shaped straw topper, he’s ready to take off the apron and go for his fifteen. “So… amazing sex. Great head. Probably loaded as fuck. Considering a second date?”

She’d be crazy not to, even if he did put her to the curb after dessert. Then again, he’s never seen Mr. Garrick with the same person twice, even if a few do come asking around every so often about a man in a nice suit with mutton chops. “Or was he just an asshole outside of the whole… lips made to please?”

She’s down by a fridge checking the stock of juices and fruits, if today is bachelorette party day, their low pars might become an issue. “No,”she says firmly, “definitely not an asshole.” She looks up and waggles her eyebrows, “though his was definitely pretty.” She pops up, quick as lightning as she hears the soft chime signaling the opening of the door and the arrival of new blood. 

There’s a new feeling, a slight sinking or flip flop of her stomach when the door opens and its not Him, walking through. She shakes it off and remarks back to Andy before turning her attention to the new stranger, “well since I can’t get a hold of him and he doesn’t have my number, does some light stalking count?” She tries to play it off like a joke, but now that she has her phone back… well… she felt bad for whomever had missed connections in the days before Google. 

He shrugs, already with another mental image to play with. “I mean, if you’re asking my advice, I’d totally recommend googling. I mean, I’ve definitely checked out guys before hooking up… Facebook stalked a few exes. I’m not gonna tell you not to. If you’re asking my permission to let you dip in the backroom for an hour and do a deep dive, fuck you very much I’ve got shit to do tonight.” He flashes a warm smile, still leaning despite the implication that he actually has things he should be doing.

“I always imagined he was some sort of producer or something, loads of money and nothing better to do with his time than hang out in a decent drinking establishment until closing time if he doesn’t pick up some pretty boy to take home and play with. Now, my whole world’s been shattered because he takes home a certain lady and apparently has a pretty ass.”

“He’s not a producer, I don’t think…” her thoughts wander for a moment, trying to piece together whatever clues she feels confident sharing. “I think he’s a magician? An illusionist, maybe?” She shrugs as she goes to pick up a ticket for an order sitting in the machine.

“You’re right about the money though,” she admits over the chugging sound of wine meeting glass. She sighs, “and he did this… thing.” She rolls her eyes at Andy’s lascivious grin. “Not like that, you perv,” she smiles back at him, her brain going down a similar path.

“He lit a candle. From across the room. With nothing.” She would add in “pretentious asshole,” but the door opens again and her entire existence roller coasters again as a non-descript man and woman enter the bar. Still not him. She thinks.

The rest of the night passes quickly, she and Andy work well together and soon she’s gently escorting the last drunken group to the door before locking it, a small shadow of disappointment crossing her face.

She knew he wouldn’t show up tonight, Andy told her he never frequents the place on what could be called a “regular” schedule. But she did have some hope.

A few hours, a lot of elbow grease and a glass of wine later she and Andy are sitting at one of the little tables splitting out the tip jar. It’s not a bad haul for a Tuesday, but Val’s distracted, eyes more on her phone than the dollars in front of her.

“Bingo!” She practically shouts as she finally searched the correct variation of “Garrick” “Robert” and “”illusionist.” She smiles at Andy, who looks shocked by the outburst after so much silence. “Well, I feel dumb, this is obvious as fuck. Wanna go on a field trip?” She winks.

It's a little sad to watch, but in that sweet "oh you sweet thing" way. She's smitten, no question about it but also no sense telling her that to her moony-eyed face either. His hands idly go to the stamped gold coin in his pocket as the advertisement on the Magic Castle website flickers up the same pale man in a formal tuxedo with a top hat and fucking cape bearing the same stylized rabbit logo on the bottom of the advert.

He points at the line right below it. One night only, Special Engagement $250 per person including dinner, $80 bottle service. "A little rich for my blood, kiddo. Looks like he's a bit of a big deal in the LA magician circuit." The thought still amuses him, the unassuming gentleman who's too proper to be a hipster despite his very hipster look billing himself as a modern day David Copperfield. 

"Guess he's probably pretty good, though. Are there videos? I bet there's YouTube footage at least."

“Well, of course, I’m going to see if he has a YouTube channel.” She’s almost offended by the suggestion that she wouldn’t start looking up the magician on every platform she can think of. “But seriously, we can make this Magic Castle thing work, we don’t have to get drinks, I’ll pay for your ticket, it’ll be fine.”

She’s calculating the costs in her head, as she negotiates with her stomach just how many meals comprised of Ramen are acceptable at her age. 

A lot, she figures, and as she’s typing in new search terms into YouTube she continues to beg Andy for some company. “You love dressing up! We will pre-game, eat phenomenally, and be entertained! When’s the last time we did something nice for ourselves. Hell, you can bring your husband, it’s fine. I’ll cover us.”

She is not sure if that last statement is actually true. Fuck, her credit card statement is going to be a nightmare for a year after this. Well, it’s been a while since she resorted to selling plasma, but that’s always an option to balance the financial scales.

“Think about it, for me, please,” she whines. “Look! Video evidence,” she squeals, since when does she squeal?, as some grainy bootleg Robert Garrick, cape and all, pops up on her tiny phone screen. 

"Maybe…" Andy leans in close to get a better look, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I know you want a copilot on this, but if you fly solo, maybe you can get a little bit of that stage door action? Magicians have groupies, right? That sounds like a thing. Like the Mindfreak guy probably gets tons of pussy or whatever you straight people are into."

He reaches and pokes at the screen, opening it to fullscreen and cranking the volume. It's not Magic Castle, he had an anniversary dinner there a few years back, this place seems a little larger and more open, the crowd more mixed and not well dressed middle class white people trying to look fancy. It starts in the middle of what looks like an interesting act, a well-dressed assistant in suittails is dropping to his knees, staring up at Mr. Garrick as he looms above the man. A candle is placed on the assistant's head, a gleaming silver tray perched on long white-blond hair. "Now, you will be absolutely still for this demonstration."

"Yes, Sir." The man answers in a flat monotone, staring blankly at Mr. Garrick as bright little flames dance across his nimble fingers. 

"Do not be alarmed, dear audience, for I am well-studied in the lure of flames. The spark you see before you is entirely under my command, as much as my assistant here. I can sculpt it to a dangerous inferno…" As he speaks the small lick of flame begins to grow, spreading across long fingers until even the confident showman looks just a little afraid. "Or a harmless ember." He turns his hand and it reduces just as quickly, shrinking down to a small lick at the center of his otherwise empty palm as he makes it dance across his pale flesh. He paces then from the center of the raised stage until he's easily six feet away on the edge near the audience. "I assure you, this is no trick flame. It has heat-" He reaches down toward an audience member that's out of frame save for stubby fingers reaching to touch it and swearing in a low gruff tone. "It burns."

Andy glances to Val who seems just as entranced as the glassy-eyed assistant and looks back to see the flame jump across the stage and set the pillar candle alight just as the video ends.

"Well, that was different."

“Mhmm,” Val agrees, distantly, like she’s distracted or enchanted or both. She blinks rapidly as the video ends, coming out of her paralyzed reverie.

“That’s it!” She exclaims, life and excitement returning to her voice. “That’s what he did, but in his bedroom, Andy. Like a stage show, sure, there’s tricks and wires and something on the assistant, sure, but how did he do it in his bedroom?”

“We have to go. I will sell my blood if I have to, but we are going to this show, boo.” She’s insistent, probably more pushy than reasonable. That voice of reason in her head is quickly losing the battle against her absolute need to see him again. “I don’t think he’s much for groupies anyway, I got the vibe he likes someone he can respect.”

She’s got it bad, she knows, but she can’t help but enjoy the wayward thought of surprising him, maybe playing dumb and pretending that she was just there at this insanely overpriced venue ‘just because.’ That might work… she turns the various scenarios over in her mind as she plots her next moves. 

The next video starts, and she’s pulled back into the same trance-like state, tip jar, plans, and even Andy forgotten as Robert commands the same pale, blonde man to perform as he demands.

This one seems to also start mid-show, but it's more professional, like a promotional video and not bootleg footage. The same man with white-blond hair is brought from backstage only this time he's in a t-shirt and jeans in stark contrast to Mr. Garrick and his tuxedo and bowtie. The magician produces a single silver coin from his sleeve and the assistant turns to the audience with obvious disbelief on his face. "Hypnosis isn't real." He says, but the words are quiet from the stage and barely pick up.

Garrick's voice is loud and clear. "Prove me wrong." He says casually, dancing the coin over his fingers. "The mind is so complex that it is rendered simple when confronted with that which it does not understand." The coin moves faster and the man's eyes linger on it, watching intently. "It stumbles and assumes the most obvious conclusion to fit the evidence provided. Your eyes are heavy, tired, bit you've had such a long day, perhaps a tryst with lover before the show tonight."

His lips twist into a mischievous smile and the small audience titters at the thought as the blond man blushes dark.

"It's only natural to be exhausted right now, to let your mind wander and be led as you humor the charlatan and his low voice."

There's a beat, a moment where there is no sound and no movement save for the slow transfer of the coin dancing over Garrick knuckles. Then the man softly answers; "Yes."

"It's easy to slip deeper, to let go and be still. To listen to my voice."

Silence again, and then a collective murmur heard loudest as the feminine voice of the person holding the camera; "Yes, Sir."

"Very good. You are so very good." The coin slides into his palm and disappears. "Close your eyes now, just allow yourself to hear only my voice. What is your name, dear boy?"

"David." He answers in a rough monotone, followed by a few other names and most loudly the camera operator again breathlessly whispers; "Janice."

"Good, David. Now you are so relaxed. Disconnecting from this prison of flesh and bone." He presses his hands on the man, turning him so his back faces the audience. "Take off your shirt for me, David."

There is no hesitation, but his body moves slowly as though pulled on awkward strings as he obeys the command, dropping his white t-shirt to the stage before letting his arms dangle limp athis sides. Mr. Garick waves his hand and produces a long silver dagger, a dark red stone set into the fine blade. "This is not an illusion." He says firmly, "Only a trick of the mind." He draws the blade across his palm, showing it cut his pale skin and draw a fine trickle of blood.

"David is not aware of pain." He brings the blade to bear on the man's back, drawing an elaborate mark as the audience gasps bit does not scream or move from their seats, even as the thin cuts begin to bleed and drip down his back, saturating the denim waistband of his jeans. David does not flinch or make a sound.

"His mind is sleeping now, blissfully unaware of danger or fear." Garrick turns his eyes to the audience then, to the camera. "As are you. This is an illusion, you know it is. There is no way this is real." He smiles and presses his bloody palm in the center of the mark and it flashes as though burning bright orange from the inside and then with a flash of smoke it's gone. The only evidence remaining the silver blade in the magician's hand.

"You may awaken, David." He says softly. "You've been a very good audience."

The video stops and Andy realizes his head aches and releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He feels… confused, not entirely remembering the content of what they've seen. "Wow. Okay, that was… creepy? But also I'm really tired right now and I think I need to head home for the night."

The video exits fullscreen and he scrolls to the comments, trying to figure out just what the fuck he watched, but there's only one from about a year ago from someone posting a link with the less-than-creative username 'notanillusion'.

"Yeah, that one was weird."

Andy turns to gauge her reaction to the absolute insanity he just watched and he’s shocked into silence. 

Val sits still, a blonde, pale statue staring unblinking at the walls of the bar. Her shirt hangs off of her elbows, she’s clearly undone the buttons and let the garment fall open around her. Her breathing is slow and shallow and Andy moves to shake her out of whatever trance she’s fallen into. His hand touches her shoulder and he’s shocked by the unnatural coolness of her skin and when she doesn’t respond immediately to his hand on her, he moves. He spins her around and grabs her by both shoulders and tries to stare into her far-away eyes. 

“Hey Val, snap out of it,” Andy says as he snaps his fingers in front of her eyes, like a parody of a bad tv show. 

“Mmhmm,” Val responds, groggily. She feels fuzzy, weighted down by an unseen heaviness. She’s exhausted, but content, in a way that suffuses through her whole being. “I was good, wasn’t I?” She says to no one in particular, not to Andy, not even to herself. She brings one absentminded hand up to breast and her fingers trace the outline of the golden ring newly seated in her nipple.

“Val… the fuck?” Andy practically screeches, as he tries to slide her shirt back up into her shoulders. “What did he do to you?”

The panic in Andy’s voice reaches her in a way nothing else quite has. It’s as if she was at the bottom of a dark ocean and the heavy chain anchoring her down to the bottom has been set loose. She can feel her psyche kicking and screaming up towards a small sliver of light breaking through the blackness, gasping for air.

She looks to Andy and she sees him, so clearly. His panic and worry about her, his blossoming guilt over all those young boys he helped send the magician’s way, his distress over offering one of his best friends like a lamb to the wolf. She sees all of it in the dark swirls of his eyes as her mind snaps back into place.

“I think...I think he may have done… well,” she picks her phone back up and waves it as she moves to button up her shirt with the other, “that.” She takes a deep breath, fuck, she did not want to admit this, “I think he hypnotizedmeandpiercedmynipples,” she lets out in one fast breath. 

“Jesus fuck.” Andy recoils, his brain stumbling over the situation and the words pouring out of Val’s mouth. “Wait. Wait, so he is a creep, right? Definitely a total creep?”

He should have seen it coming, should have checked deeper and not let the affable sweet smile and general aura of calm around the man set him at ease. He reaches with far more stable hands than hers and tries to help with the buttons despite honestly looking at the evidence of hard little hoops pressed against the soft cups of her lacy bra. “Are you sure that’s what happened? I mean… okay, so there’s got drunk and got your nipples pierced and he didn’t intervene messed up and then there’s ‘is actually a total creep and maybe did something far worse’ fucked up. Look at me, Val. Look at me and tell me what you remember?”

He’s dealt with that before, in college there were guys a little too willing to pass out ketamine or whatever they were fucking with that day. There are ways to make someone less inhibited that might feel like the way Val looked, spacy and out of it… but it’s been a couple days, she should be fine. “Just… okay, we’ll figure this out.”

“No, he’s not a creep,” the words seem hollow, even to her, but there’s a perfectly normal explanation for everything that happened, even the things she can’t remember. “It was fine, I drank too much wine, but he was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to. I mean, I’m the one that ended up topping him anyway.” Not that it makes it better, or different. Why can’t Andy understand that it’s fine?

So, she says it, “it’s fine. I mean, however they happened, it’s great, they’re healing really quickly and they don’t look, you know, infected or anything. Besides,” the thought occurs to her suddenly, “I could probably sell the rings to get us tickets to the show and replace them with cheap ones!” She’s torn, she wants to keep the pretty gold rings, they are a gift after all, precious even. But if she has to part with them to see Robert again, she’ll pawn them in a heartbeat.  
She hasn’t answered his question, not the way he wants, she knows. The irritation and fear radiating off of him is grating, like bright fluorescent lights. Why would her best friend try to keep her away from Garrick? How could he not see how important, how necessary it is that she see the strange, hypnotic illusionist again. 

“I mean I don’t remember what happened specifically with the rings, but stranger things have happened and I like them.”

He doesn’t really like the way she’s so quick to jump to defensiveness, but Andy lets it slide. If Val says it’s fine, she’s a big girl and can handle herself. Still… not great. “I just… I’m not really okay with what you’re telling me here, and yeah you should probably at least touch base with him and I’d kind of like to have some words, but… I don’t think you should go.”

He sets his jaw, looking away from her chest as she closes her blouse and up toward the still glassy look in her eyes. “You’re being weird and I don’t know, we’re both tired. It’s been a long night, but maybe you might want to stay away from him. Like… I get it, you had a good time and I’m very interested to know that he’s a bottom, but like… this is really giving me some creepy vibes right now. I’m not going and I can’t stop you from going to this thing, but maybe it’s not a great idea. And I’m saying that as your friend. If he’s a creep - and I’m not saying he is - and he did something to you… I mean, obviously hypnosis is bullshit, but you know… there’s stuff out there that can mess with you for days after you take it. We don’t know he didn’t drug you.”

She sighs again, and the part of her that almost escaped out of its dark, black hole, sinks back down, away from the edge of light and air. “I don’t think he drugged me, it just doesn’t feel like that. And, I don’t know, I used to think hypnosis was bullshit, but maybe… maybe there’s something to it. Maybe I’ll hypnotize you.” She tries to bring the conversation back to their usual joking banter, teasing and playful. She knows it's smarter just to drop the issue. Andy clearly doesn’t want to hear about her plans to play financial hoop-on-fire-jumping in order to pay for tickets. She reaches down, thumbs through the carefully divided bills sitting on the table and grabs her phone and cash. “I love you, Andy.” She stands up and gives him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for looking out for me.” She heads to the back to grab her worn leather purse and heads out to her car for the quiet drive home. 

She sneaks in, her roomates are all asleep and Andy and Val took their time after work closing. It’s nearly four a.m., but she feels wired, aware. She showers and gets ready for bed, but can’t help pulling open the video of Garrick and the blonde man, searching for clues to the magic tricks. She watches it with the sound off this time, to let her eyes focus and to keep her distractions from Garrick’s deep velvet voice to a minimum. 

The trick is flawless, beautifully executed by a man who is well aware of his own presence and how he can use the power of his aura to dominate the perception of those around him. The original poster, notanillusion, and isn’t that quite the handle, she thinks to herself, has several other videos posted and Val finds herself slipping further and further down the rabbit hole.


	2. Decisions

It's been over two weeks since his little misstep and so far so good, Garrick has been able to lose himself in carrying out the tasks delegated to him by Vannevar and Strauss and still scrape out pockets of evenings to drink and be entertained and work on his own projects. David, at least, has been more amenable and assisting where directed. Still, it's best he mind the backstage door tonight given the increasing presence of Tremere anarchs aware of his presence at the Magic Castle, aware of the Camarilla aligned clan presence there now.

These shows are the last thing he wants to be doing. Too public, too much a caricature of the real potential of his skill, it's a joke really. But a promise is a promise and if a night or two a month of sucking up his pride and playing the fool will earn his seat at the table as the Prince's advisor, then so be it. Strauss won't be Keeper forever and there should be only one clear replacement. 

It's a simple enough routine. Warming up with the basics, sleight of hand and a few flashy card and coin tricks. A trip across the intimate dining room for up close stuff, flirting and misdirection, a little more slip of the fingers and a few choice commands to the mortals in attendance involving a scandalous exposing of breasts and drink tossed in a man's face, something to get the audience laughing and comfortable. 

He's on his way back up to the stage to begin the more grand centerpiece of his act when he sees her from the corner of his eye. She's at one of the edge tables, away from the pool of light where he's been playing with the VIP section, not picking at her meal like the others but staring directly at him.

With a pasted on grin, he whispers into the small two way on his sleeve as he rolls out the cage for his escape trick. "David, there is a friend at table twelve, please have her privately removed."

There's no response, but as he climbs into the cage and his assistant - Romero or Rodrigo, he can't be bothered to remember, but he's got lovely olive skin and tastes of warm brandy on his tongue - locks the door, he looks directly to Her and catches the glint of wanting in her eyes as the blindfold is brought down and the audience focuses in on him.

This, she thinks, was an excellent idea. Her pocketbook is more than a little grateful that Andy emphatically refused her invitation but less thrilled she spent an inappropriate amount of money on a new outfit for the evening. 

She’s happy with her table in the back, off to the side. She can sit and watch without gaining too much attention. She picks at her plate of overpriced chicken, and finally the lights flicker their warning that the show is about to begin.

The show starts and once Garrick appears on the stage, everything else is forgotten. She’s so enamoured, she almost doesn’t hear the soft footfalls behind her, but she does spin around just before a pale hand touches her shoulder.

She grabs the wrist of the stranger intruding into her space and looks up to a familiar face. Her eyes narrow and her grip tightens as she twists the narrow arm slightly downwards and around. 

“You’re David,” Val says, unblinkingly. She recognizes him from the video footage she’s spent hours poring over these last few weeks. “And I didn’t say you could touch me.”

He recognizes her immediately, the pink streaks in blond hair and tall stature are a dead giveaway. Seems his Master has drawn her attention for more than just a night, and that thought brings the bile up to the back of his throat. Jealousy is an old familiar friend, and laying hands on something Master wanted more than him, if only for an evening, feels like sweet justice. 

Privately. Of course, he won't make a scene. Not with so many important vampires in the room, captivated by the scent of accelerant and the roar of flame as the top of the metal cage is set alight. He narrows his eyes at her when she calls him by name, a sneer curling his upper lip. "A mutual friend has requested…" There's a hitch of hesitation in his voice as he sees the familiar glassy sheen in her eyes, still staring at his Master. No. No, he will not watch another lust for what singular thing he has left in this world. "...your presence backstage. The show will be ending soon, and he wanted to ensure that you're comfortable and waiting once he's done."

David has gotten quite good at lying over the years, his own brain so twisted he can hardly remember what's true anyway. If she's sequestered backstage in the dressing room, she can hardly miss meeting Mr. Strauss before Master does. Mr. Strauss would never condone the taking of a second, surely, and certainly without proper ceremony and he doubts she would still look upon Master from afar if she was His.

"I'll escort you to the dressing room." He adds, loosening his grasp to a polite touch, gesturing toward his full access pass. "Wouldn't want to keep Him waiting." It's the sort of offer he can't imagine ever refusing, and hopes she will be much the same.

This is exactly what she was hoping would happen. She’s practically vibrating out of her skin at the idea of actually getting to see Garrick in person again. She pushes her chair away and releases David’s wrist as she stands up to follow him to the dressing room. It’s no small feat to walk backwards in the heels she’s wearing, but she manages, if only to keep her eyes locked on the fire-wielding magician on the stage. Val smiles to herself as she realizes she has a few inches in height on the blonde man thanks to her new thigh-high boots. 

“Well, David, lead the way,” she responds pleasantly, but leans down to his ear to whisper, “but touch me again and I’ll have your balls as a necklace and I’ll get Him to help me.” It’s a bold threat, probably hollow, but she reads the way he stiffens as she parrots the same reverential tone back to him. David coughs and holds out his arm, a clear indication for her to take his elbow hfor him to lead her down deeper into the depths of the castle. Val narrows her eyes and shakes her head, clearly not interested in touching her obsequious escort. He sighs and begins stalking down the dark carpeted hallways, one eye on the statuesque blonde beside him. 

David is fuming, furious. Visions of Strauss draining this blonde imposter until she’s nothing but an empty corpse in front of Master clouds his thoughts and he lets the fire of his rage contain the impulses of his jealousy. He wants to tell her what he is, what He is, he wants to watch her run screaming only to come back begging once the blood is finally burned from her pathetic, unworthy system. No, she doesn’t deserve to live that long, David decides, too much of a temptation for Him, too much of a risk of being replaced and that cannot be allowed to happen. No, better for her to die, here, tonight, for Strauss to make the point he is physically incapable of delivering. 

The twists and turns of the tourist trap lead them to a dark wooden door. Val brushes one long finger over the swirls of the cherry-stained grain before turning to David, looking down her nose at him and smiles, “that will be all, thank you,” and turns the doorknob to let herself in, immediately closing it behind her. She leans back against the shut door and lets out the breath she’s been holding since they left the small comfort of her shadowed table. Her hands are shaking with the adrenaline release she’s allowing herself to finally feel after holding her cool, composed mask for what felt like an eternity. 

The room is deceptively plain, a locked briefcase beside a lit vanity that's littered with powder and lip color and hair products, a well-tailored charcoal suit jacket hung over the chair the only evidence of Garrick's presence. A small leather sofa tucked between racks of costume pieces is the only apparent source of comfort. 

David sprints to find the Keeper, still standing silently at the back of the dinner theater watching the end of Garrick's act with a look of thinly veiled disdain. "Master Strauss," he bows his head reverently, "you've asked to be alerted of any suspicious behavior." It feels wrong to expose his Master's wrongdoing, after all the things he's hidden and lied about over the years to protect Daddy and his interests. It feels worse to suffer the woman he's chosen to usurp his position.

"Mr. Garrick?" Strauss's deep voice asks.

David shuffles his feet and slumps his shoulders under the weight of the gaze on him. He's made a point of staying far away from anyone even Daddy is afraid of, primarily Strauss. "There's a girl. I've locked her away in the dressing room, she has Mr. Garrick's blood. I can feel it."

"I see. And you'd like to see this girl dealt with."

"Just doing my duty to clan and house, Sir." His hands shake, but he knows what he's doing is the only way to fix what must be a mistake. "Please don't tell Him it was me."

He feels Strauss nod through the wall of silence and doesn't dare move until he can no longer hear the distant click of his boots on the floor.

The dressing room door opens to Strauss with little more than a wave of his hand, the mundane lock powerless and knob turning by force of will alone. He can smell the young ghoul even if she were clearly not hiding or even expecting his presence. He can smell her blood, bearing the slightest trace of Tremere flowing within her. Poor thing, probably not even aware of the change. 

"Hello." He says simply, adjusting the round red spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He's well aware of the imposing figure he is, tall and broad shouldered, eternally shaved head and unblemished dark skin, his long crimson leather coat almost touching the sole of his ankle boots. "I assume you're waiting for someone?"

Val freezes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a coyote or a wolf. In the split seconds between the thunder of her own pulse booming in her ears, she scrambles for a plan. Playing dumb is out, she can tell, somehow, this tall, commanding gentleman in front of her wouldn’t accept the ruse. Playing coy, flirtatious isn’t going to get her anywhere either. So, she defaults to her weapons of choice, truth and snark. 

“I am, not you, but I’m always pleased to make new acquaintances. My name is Valerie, but my friends call me Val.” She steps forward, faking her surety and brandishing her sharpest smile. She extends her hand, immediately regretting the decision, but it’s too late to back down now. As her friends used to say, “Gotta fake it till you make it,” and she certainly doesn’t have it made yet. She calls up every reserve of confidence, squares her shoulders and braces for impact.

"Valerie." He answers with a low, mildly disapproving tone. "I don't appreciate being lied to, so we'll begin again. You're waiting for Mister Garrick. You know he'll obviously come here after the show. You feel… connected to him." There is no question in his voice, only certain statements of fact. He does not shake her hand, leaving both large hands curled slightly at his sides.

Uproarious applause thunders beyond the closed green stage door, the buzzing scent of magical flame seeping under the door and tickling at his nostrils. No less, his eyes remain firmly fixed on the young woman, dark pools through thin red glass. "How long have you known Mister Garrick, Valerie? And please, don't insult my intelligence."

She opens her mouth and drops her hand, “Technically, I didn’t lie to you… Mr…” she fumbles as she realizes that no, in fact, this tall, dark handsome stranger has not given her his name. She barrels right on through the awkwardness, speaking rapidly to cover her misstep. She lets a layer of bravado fall to the floor, exhales a deep breath and looks into Strauss’s obscured eyes. 

“We only met the once, two weeks, four days and,” she checks her non-existent watch, “twenty three and a half hours ago.” Not that she’s been counting. She can feel her palms starting to sweat and her mouth is going dry, but there’s that damn self-preservation whispering in her head again. It’s demanding her to maintain her ground, to keep breathing and not blink in the face of a predator. It’s like a lightbulb or an epiphany inside her head, she knows what this man is, he’s deadly and dangerous and she is less to him than a lamb to a wolf. She also sees a path, like stepping stones across a river, spaced out and slick and difficult to traverse. This conversation, flowing like the rapids of a mountain stream could wash her away, but, a new voice inside her mind whispers, if you can just follow the path… maybe you can survive to see the other side. 

"I see." He answers, looking her over as though appraising a piece of meat. Unmoved, but gathering a clear picture of the situation, he waits until the stage door opens to step into place to block off the path between Garrick and the exit.

"Damn it, David, I told you to escort-" Garrick's midway through ranting into his mildly singed sleeve when he stops on the second of three steps leading down into the dressing room. He looks to Strauss first, letting the dread that comes with earning a personal meeting wash over him, and then to Val who looks suitably unnerved and delighted all at once, and then back to Strauss before lowering his gaze to the floor. "Mister Strauss, Sir."

"Robert." He says in the same confident calm. "The show seems to be a success. I'll be sure to check your paperwork was filed with the fire marshal."

Slowly, he squares off his shoulders and descends the small steps, standing at the axis point between them. "Everything is in order, my assistant filed the forms last week."

"I see. No surprises, then?"

There's a hesitance in his voice as it sticks in his throat. He's been caught, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Val found him, of course she did… intelligent and driven are hard traits to work around. And Strauss has found her. "No. Sir."

"Good to hear. You know how I feel about the rules." His hand moves, a barely perceivable shift from his side to the silver jeweled blade in his jacket. 

The threat is read loud and clear and he shakes his head, pasting on a smile that's entirely for Val's benefit. "I am aware, yes. And I assure you, I'm handling the situation."

"We'll talk. After everything is taken care of."

Taken care of. That's one way to put it. "Of course, I'll call."

"I believe this is better resolved in person, Mister Garrick. I know you're not one to get your hands dirty."

If his heart still beat, it'd be racing. Instead he remains the visage of slightly shaken calm. He's being pushed to make a decision, immediately. Take her life, one way or the other, and without so much as the comfort of having her blissfully unaware that they're not talking about permits.

Val’s brain is whirring, she’s trying to piece together the conversation, it’s so damn important, she tries to remind herself. But her whole body feels like a magnet and it’s taking so much focus to not just throw herself into Garrick’s space, place his hands on her body and beg him to touch her, to taste her. She tries to keep the irrational hunger at bay and redirect her attention to the twisted display in front of her. She’s not so far gone that she can’t tell that the permits are an euphemism, a code, but for what? Strauss, that’s his name, and he’s obviously in charge. 

She risks a glance over to Garrick, to size up his reactions to the taller man, and she’s surprised by the undercurrent of… she can’t quite place the emotion running underneath his armor of confidence. She blinks and the slight shine of silver misses her vision, but then, the thought hits her, just like before, the answers snap into place, Robert is afraid. There’s a moment where Val has to mentally shake herself away from the impulse to throw herself down in between Garrick and Strauss. That’s not the path, little girl, her new internal voice warns. You’re the prey, the voice reminds her. And that’s when she realizes she has a choice. She can either let these two men determine her fate, although, she would let Garrick determine her fate in a shallow beat of her heart, but if she’s going to be prey, she’s going to make sure they choke on her. 

Deep breath, sweetheart. She tells herself, nobody lives forever. “Mr. Strauss, you asked me not to insult your intelligence, and I would appreciate the same courtesy. Obviously, you aren’t speaking about permits and, based on the tension here in the room, I can’t help but think this has something to do with me. So, if you would both be so kind as to tell me what is going on, that would be lovely.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She just had to go and open her mouth, and had to do the smart thing and ask questions. Garrick answers as he watches Strauss’s fingers idly considering the hilt of his blade. “Val. I will answer your question, but I need to ask you something first.” He doesn’t look at her, his eyes lifting up to meet Strauss’s and lingering there. Strauss may have years on him and powers well beyond his own, but their gifts are quite different; when Strauss looks into his soul he knows that he can see only shadows, but when he looks back, doors Strauss doesn’t even know exist are opened. There’s a way around it, a way to cut through the tension and not have her death on his hands.

His eyes shift to her, locking on the sweet softness and seeing the glassy haze of her impressionable mind open entirely to him now. In her state, all it takes is the right questions to know far more than words can say. “Val, I’m going to ask you a very important question and I need you to be absolutely honest when you answer.” He almost asks if she understands, but it’s irrelevant. She does, or she will. “There is a world of things you do not know, dangerous things, things that you could go your whole life never knowing. Would you willingly close the door and go back to not knowing, or would you put yourself in certain danger to walk through it and learn.”

It’s the question of all Tremere, the very thing they are tasked with at their rebirth before they even know what they are. To learn, or to be safe. Even Strauss at the top of the grand pyramid can’t fault him for asking that very simple question. And like it or not, if she chooses wrong the blade will ensure the rest of her life is not long at all.

Val looks at Garrick, couldn’t look away to judge Strauss’s reaction to the question or her answer if her life depended on it, and she’s pretty sure that her life does depend on how she answers this question. It’s not difficult, of course she’ll answer honestly and really, Garrick should have seen this answer from a million miles away. “Safe is overrated. I want to see, I want to learn.” She matches her bright green eyes to his gray-green-blue ones, “I’m curious.”

Her breathing is slow and shallow, almost a contradiction. The voice in her mind smiles, proudly, good girl, you’re one step closer to the other side. She blinks at Garrick, waiting to see his reaction, she wants to hear him say that she’s a good girl, that she did well, that she chose wisely. But she also knows that its not a good idea to beg, not in front of Strauss. She can feel the tension radiating off of Garrick and that’s enough to still her tongue, for the moment. 

Garrick steps forward then, toward Strauss with a somewhat more confident stride. The choice is made. He takes the blade, the familiar ruby pressing into his palm as he grips tight around it, drawing it from the sheath. Strauss gives a single nod, allowing the blade to be drawn. “What’s your decision, Robert?”

“She’s a good fit for an acolyte. Call conclave for tomorrow night. I’ll make sure we come.”

“Garrick…”

Garrick shakes his head and draws the blade carefully across his palm, opening a fine line across flesh that has been split and reopened innumerable times. “I offer a boon for permission to take a second, with intent.”

“Are you certain, you are asking quite a favor.”

He nods once, replacing the blade into its sheath and folding his fingers to well up the blood to a fine trickle into the cupped skin. His voice drops to a whisper, but it doesn’t matter… soon enough she’ll know these things too. “For clan and house. I swear a major boon to you, Maximilian Strauss. For the girl’s life.”

For a long moment the man is still, an unmoving shadow in the room’s dim light. Then he nods once, repeating in a low tone. “For clan and house, Robert Garrick. I accept your boon and place her life in your hands. Tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Strauss casts his eyes toward Val, lingering on her with the same critical gaze. Then he turns and leaves the way he came, a deep silence lingering in his wake.

Slowly, Garrick closes his bleeding palm, folding his fingers over the wound and forcing the vitae in his system to heal the cut as he does. “God. Fucking. Damn it.” He growls, turning away from Val then, catching his own desperate reflection in the mirror staring back at him. The rage boils barely beneath the surface as the voice of his Beast rails in his mind.

You fool. You damn bloody fool. You could have gotten out of this with only one small life and the best drink you’ve ever had. It’s not too late, you can still kill her. You can still make this right.

“No!” He growls out loud, flicking his wrist hard enough to send a coin from his sleeve to slam against the mirror and shatter it completely. “You weren’t supposed to be here!”

The sudden anger and shattering glass snap Val back to reality from the now familiar haze she’s been finding herself in tonight. “What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?” She nearly yells, her barely contained emotional meltdown finally breaking through all the barriers she kept up during the intense encounter with Strauss. 

“Yeah, I know I wasn’t supposed to be here, but what else was I supposed to do? Wait around at the bar like some mopey teenager? No thank you. Who was that guy, Strauss? Who is David? Because I told him I would have his balls on a necklace if he touched me and I’m going to say this counts.”

She’s ranting, she knows this, but it feels good to just let all the pent up energy out. She’s so focused on getting all of her thoughts out that she almost doesn’t realize that finally, she and Garrick are alone. Almost. She walks over and grabs his bleeding hand, “that looks like it hurts, why would you do that? What is this?”

The wound seals before her eyes, the fine red line vanishing to leave only a bloody cold palm that he rips from her gasp as he steps away. “It doesn’t hurt. Look… I said I would answer you questions and I will, I am a man of my oath, but not here and not now. You were supposed to forget. You were supposed to go back to your safe little unimportant life so I wouldn’t have to make this choice!” His shout carries, barely baffled by the room’s padding of costumes and set pieces. 

David. Of course, David’s been really quiet. He’ll deal with that later, deal with him later. This is something he needs to deal with now and in order to do that he needs to feel just a little less like he damn near sent himself into a panic attack with flame only to walk into the firing squad.”You’re curious.” He mutters, his back still turned. “You want to learn.” He lets out a small almost crazed laugh, shaking his head as he shoves his hands into his pockets to stop himself from continuing his tantrum.

He draws a deep false breath, unsure why he’s even bothering to maintain the charade when before sunrise she’ll know more than enough of what he is. Then he lets it out with a low sigh and he does feel better, more collected at least. “I don’t suppose you drive? I can call a car. We need to go somewhere private and have a very long conversation.”

“I drive,” Val replies, slightly shocked, “let’s go.” She’d be lying if she wasn’t excited about getting Garrick back to his place, alone. She can feel the anticipation welling up inside of her at the idea of what’s seemed like an eternity without his hands on her finally coming to an end. “But this long conversation better include an explanation of these nipple rings thati I’m pretty sure are your fault.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, but opens the door leading back to the main hallway, “Lead the way.”

The drive is quiet, she focuses on driving and is thankful for the navigation app on her phone, because other than the address, Garrick appears to be completely useless. Soon, they’re pulling up to a familiar pink and orange building, the very portrait of “California sophisticated beach aesthetic.” She brings her purse and phone in with her this time, and the doorman’s stoic expression does not reveal whether or not he recognizes Val from her previous visit. The elevator ride is the most difficult. Val has vague memories of Garrick’s kissing her, running his long, broad hands over her torso and it’s almost impossible to try not to recreate that moment here, again. 

The soft “ding” of the elevator and the cushy plush of the carpet are a nice familiarity between the various loud noises. Now that they’re here, finally, the urge to run her fingers through his soft hair is overwhelming. 

The nipple rings, yeah… they’re the least of his worries. His mind wanders the whole way there, lurching through the proper order of explaining and unveiling things that are probably going to be met with equal parts suspicion and disbelief. David had been easy, a few movies about vampires and a quick rundown of his new circumstance and he’d just fallen right in line, obedient and devoted. Val… she’s different, for so many reasons, the prime of which being exactly the reason he asked her the question instead of deciding for her. She’s bright, and in a world of increasingly dim people, that’s something worth saving.

The door closes behind them and he walks away from her, if she follows him to the kitchen he’ll deal with that there. It’s a good enough place, sterile and hardly used, few distractions and less chance of finding distraction in each other. He paces to the refrigerator, recently stocked despite David’s absence. There’s a new bottle of champagne, the little shit already planning a celebration. He plucks it out and then one of the far more conspicuous offerings in a plasma bag he leaves out on the countertop to be seen.

“Ask your questions, Val. I will answer them as best as I can. If you’d rather, I can just start talking and go until your eyes glaze over, but I’d rather cover what’s important to you first and then get into history and rhetoric.”

He makes a show of popping the champagne cork with his hands, no longer caring if she sees with clarity the things he’d taken such great pains to hide. Taking a single flute from the glass rack, he pours it out and sets it down on the small two-person table. “I’d like to say that everything you’re going to learn will all be reasonable and understandable, but we both know it isn’t.”

She turns the questions over in her mind. Really, the first question is one she’s been trying to find the answer to for weeks, “How did you do it? The candle in your bedroom, it’s been driving me crazy trying to figure it out.”

The second question is new, but no less pressing, “What’s in the bag? Is that… is that plasma?” She’s been desperate before, she’s sold her blood to make rent and the pale liquid in the sealed bag is unfortunately familiar. “Why do you have plasma?” 

She takes a long drag of champagne from the delicate flute, and asks her final question for the moment. She can’t hide the shaking timbre in her voice as she asks her final question for the moment. “What happens tomorrow?”

He’s honestly a little surprised that’s her first question, but… he’s not going to leave it be just because it’s silly. “The candle trick? Really.” He lifts his hand, the dried blood still staining his palm, and closes his eyes - focusing this time as he calls upon the blood and letting her see the small orange bead coalesce from nothingness on his skin. He opens his eyes then to watch her as he rolls his wrist, bringing it up to the tip of his middle finger where it blooms into a small flame and then back to his palm. He closes his fingers tight around it and lets the pain cover his skin and then seep back into him before opening it again to show the blood and the fire gone. “Magick.” He answers, wearing a smug self-satisfied grin. “With a ‘k’. The real kind.” He shifts his weight and crosses the three steps to her side to press his palm to her cheek, it’s hot and smooth as though every fine line has been burned away. Then he replaces it with the other palm, soothing the heat with cold flesh.

“Tomorrow… we’ll discuss momentarily, there are other things we need to cover first.” He pulls away, plucking up the barely warmed bag and squeezing it in his hand.

“The blood, that’s a little more difficult to explain. Harder to believe, I guess. Easier to show and then wait for the hysterics to die down so we can be calm, rational people again.” He slides the long edge of his pinky nail under the carefully lettered sticker on the front, a donor he doesn’t know or care to know, and sits down at the opposite side of the table from her. He opens his mouth slowly to show the quick distension of his slender fangs unsheathing themselves from the gum line not unlike a serpent before piercing the plasticy flesh of the bag. He hates bagged blood, like the most foul wine as it coats his tongue and dribbles down his throat in a cold slow draw. It has a purpose, though, such as when one is quite hungry after expending precious resources doing a goddamn magic show and doesn’t want to feed on his new paramour quite yet. He slurps the bag dry, lashes fluttering against his cheeks and pale skin taking a warm pinkness as a sound somewhere between gagging and moaning escapes his stained lips. Then he drops the twisted empty bag on the table. “Consider that the equivalent of eating instant noodles when you’re in a fine restaurant. I was going to feed after the show, but instead we’re here. And now I’m not so hungry.” He bares his fangs again, his eyes softening to a bright clear blue as they retract on his command.

He pauses and waits for her to panic, waits to see what direction she goes. The front door is locked to open only for him, they’re far too many floors up to bother with windows.She can process what she’s seen however she needs to, but she will need to process it to move forward.

She’s trying to process everything she’s seeing, but it’s an overwhelming demand of her taxed and frazzled brain to focus on anything else but Garrick. He lights the single drop of blood on fire and the heat and cold of his hands is a sensory revelation. She wants to moan into his touch, tilt her head into his palm and suck on every one of his fingers until he’s laid bare with need.

She’s pulled out of her erotic daydream and a final image of Garrick using his Magick to heat up the solid metal rings in her nipples and then using his cool skin to soothe the burn. The performance with the bag of blood should send her screaming for the door, but she’s bolted to her seat.

Part of her, the one that’s given up on being listened to or taken seriously is screaming at her to run, run for her life. But she’s a quiet voice underneath the crackling of understanding, fascination and arousal. “Hooooly shit…” she lets out, dragging out the vowels to stall having to make a choice.

It makes sense. The bruises, the exhaustion, the…”That’s how you did it!” She screeches animatedly. “I could not figure it out.” She seems more excited about piecing the puzzle together than understanding what each piece means. “I mean… I knew you were kinky, but I didn’t think you were a monster.”

He half-laughs, a bare and somewhat unexpected chuckle as he rises up from the wooden dining chair. Shock, he thinks, confronting something her clever but still very small mind can't begin to wrap around. "I did say there is a world of dangerous things you do not know."

He pauses, and then makes his way toward the open entrance leading into the hall. "I am a monster, yes." He says, passing through the threshold with the unspoken understanding of being followed. "But I am also a scholar, and a performer, and above all I am curious." He stops at one of the bookshelves in the sitting room and raises his hand to levitate a box off the high shelf to the coffee table now littered with different books and pages than were there before, but in a similar arrangement. He presses his hand to the wooden lid, an unseen lock opening at his command well aware of her eyes taking in every moment of the practiced actions, knowing they are normal for him.

"I was not always this way. I was a man. I trained under the great masters of stage magic, as a child and into my twenties I performed alongside them and became an apprentice in the study of illusion. Then, they began to teach me of the world of the unknown. Sorcery, divination, miracles not of man or God. We traveled the vaudeville circuit to America where I delved deeper into tales of witchcraft and Satanism, learning but never quite believing."

He withdraws a single black and white photograph, yellowed and dark with age but still crisp and clearly an image of himself in trousers and suspenders and a dusty top hat embracing a shorter chubby man with a dark mop of curly hair. Written on the back in faded spiderweb script, his own hand, Los Angeles 1918. He gently offers it to her without comment. 

"I learned too much. Caught the attention of a man called many names. I knew him as Demetri, a man that could be infinitely patient and loving one moment and deathly cruel the next. He took me and trained me, and after a time he killed me. The next night, I arose no longer a man."

Looking to her then, a wan smile ghosting over his lips, he says: "I told you, history lesson. I want you to know that I was made a monster, a monster who saved your life tonight when I had the means to snuff it out entirely."

It’s a lot to take in, the admission that he sees himself as a monster, even though she threw the word down carelessly, his confession that he too, describes himself as curious, the floating box, (what the hell?, her internal monologue wants to scream), the series of events that led to this, the man who appears unchanged from a photograph over a hundred years old. She wants so many things: she wants to learn how to make fire appear from nothing but a drop of blood, to create illusions that distort the mind and senses, but most of all, she just wants Him. 

Her hands are shaking, holding the photo and her eyes glance between the faded daguerreotype and the man, the creature, before her. There’s a word on the tip of her tongue, a myth, a rumor, but she’s not sure if she should say it, if she should name the elephant in the room. 

“You can’t be that terrible of a monster, if you saved my life. I’m no expert on…” she hesitates, “vampires, but based on everything that happened tonight, it seems like you weren’t supposed to let me live.” She takes another deep breath, she’s scared and excited for what the answer might be, but she asks her question again anyway. “Is that what happens tomorrow? Do you kill me, like Demetri killed you?”

"Vampires." He chuckles a little lower, looking back to the box of worthless treasures, scraps of memories of something he was a long time ago. He recovers the photo, placing it back in the wooden box and then sealing it again. Some things are better left to the past.

After a long moment, still save for her own soft breath, he returns his gaze to her. "I didn't save you only to destroy you. You're… special. You will be given something I didn't have, a chance. Time to get your affairs in order and learn about your… condition. I have business in Seattle this weekend, I was to be away for several weeks, but I don't believe David will be in any condition to travel. You'll be coming in his stead."

He doesn't allow room to negotiate or refuse, she'll have to learn quickly that there is no other way. "You are a monster too, Val. In a way. Not what I am, a vampire, but not entirely human either. Tomorrow, you will become known to my house. You will be… well, as protected as you can be from the dangers of a life with open eyes."

He clears his throat, another affectation that is for her comfort more than his. "Please, I know you have questions. You can ask them. Tonight is for learning now."

Questions, yeah, she has a million of them swirling like twigs caught in the tornado of her new reality. “What do you mean, I’m a monster? I thought you just,” she waves her hand, “hypnotized me, like David in those videos I saw.” She thinks for a moment, “did you do something to him? Is that what you did to me?”

The nervousness slips back into her voice, “is that what you’re going to do to me?” She’s not exactly thrilled at the idea of being the token blonde magician’s assistant, and there were more than a few instances of David coming off rather singed in the videos she watched.

Val thinks again of the blonde man, so cowed, and there’s a spark of pity there, “I was mostly joking about castrating him, mostly. And he seemed alright to travel…” she trails off, uncertain that she’s going to like the answers this road of questions leads her down.

"David should be the last of your concerns. I will deal with him personally." His back stiffens and Garrick guides his body carefully to sit at the end of the sofa, almost awkwardly informal as he brings up a knee and toes off his shiny patent leather shoes, his bowtie already undone in the car and jacket abandoned in the kitchen. "You… what happened last time we met, what brought this trouble upon me, was a mistake. And I must face the consequences of it and look upon the face of my failure."

He looks to her with a certain sadness in his eyes, his mouth a drawn line. "What I am, we have rules. My kind in particular like rules and structure, regulations to ensure there are few mistakes and when one is made it is dealt with immediately. I… I broke the rules of my house. One gh-assistant, without specific permission from our leader. I gave you my blood without that permission when David is my assistant already. I thought that when you left this place we would never meet again, in a month all trace of my indiscretion would burn away and nothing would change for either of us."

He looks away then, idly curling his fingers out of nervous habit. This had been so much simpler with David, no questions or curiosity. "Instead, you found me. And Strauss found you, though I believe David's jealousy might have had a hand in that. So, the choice was meted out. You die tonight, by my hand, or I exchange the most valuable thing I have - my boon or word of favor - and you become mine."

He's putting it as gently as he can, but like it or not eventually he will have to show his hand and make blunt the circumstances of this exchange and what it means for her. "Tomorrow night, you will be brought into the fold. You will be asked to take part in a ritual that will bind you to me, to what I am as a loyal servant. If you refuse… perhaps I can make a case to let you live, you would be detained until my blood was purged from your body, and wake up from a deep barely living rest with severe memory loss, never knowing what you've been through. If I can't, I'd be forced to end your life."

He can't look at her, but he can imagine the fear or hate that should come with such callous discussion of death, but it is what it is. His mess must be cleaned. "I would rather spend tonight convincing you to accept this gift, for what it's worth. I don't take pleasure in killing. But, the choice will be yours. If you wish, I can tell you what accepting this would mean for you."

Val moves to sit next to Garrick on the couch, an oddly familiar arrangement despite their intimate experiences. “It sounds like the choice you’re giving me isn’t much of a choice at all,” she answers in a voice barely above a whisper. “It seems like my options are to either agree to whatever this ritual will do to me, get my mind erased if I’m lucky, or dead if I’m not.”

It’s obvious, really. She doesn’t understand why Garrick looks so damn sad, maybe sad isn’t the right word, guilty doesn’t fit either, maybe it’s a combination of the two. “Well, since I would like to keep breathing and keep the frankly, fantastic memories of our first meeting intact, I’d like to know exactly what I’m going to be agreeing to tomorrow night.”

Val reaches out, tentatively, but places one hand on Garrick’s knee. She’s been dreaming about touching him for weeks and now that he’s finally close enough, she can’t resist giving into the temptation.

"I never claimed it was a fair choice, Val. Nothing about this is fair, and for my part in that I take full responsibility. I know this is my fault, but I cannot undo what has been done." He casts his eyes to her hand upon him, warm even through the fabric between them, vital and deliciously alive. He resists the urge to seek that gentle touch for the moment, there is too much of import to make clear to give himself over to the temptation. 

"The ritual itself is largely symbolic. It's called The Rite of First Sip, the ultimate purpose of which is to willingly give yourself. We will be placed in a magick circle, I will let blood into a cup and you will be asked to accept the gift. If you do, will drink. A ritual will be cast, usually by myself as I am second to Strauss, but I believe he will do it himself this time. It will make you… pliant, willing to say things you might not normally. And when it is done, you will be nominally one of the protected servitors of my kindred."

He clears his throat again, closing his eyes and clearing his mind of all but the facts. "Physically, you've already drank of my essence. The change has already started. Mentally, you feel drawn to me, attracted but not only sexually… it's deeper than that, a longing to be close and to serve my will. If I commanded you now, it would seem like the most natural thought in the world regardless of how illogical it may be. You still have free will, mostly, you are not compelled to do as I say but to not would feel wrong, it would hurt emotionally to go against my will. Physically, the change is less pronounced but still there I don't doubt. You're sleeping less, perhaps refreshed after only four or five hours. Your metabolism is more efficient, perhaps requiring more alcohol to be inebriated or able to feel full longer after a meal. Your body is more sensitive to touch, your sense of smell and vision more acute, your hearing able to focus in on the smallest sound but none more clearly than my voice. Wounds will heal faster, illnesses few and far between as your immune system is better than it ever has been. You will age slowly, perhaps only a year or so for every ten. David certainly doesn't look half his forty-five years."

He finally gives in and allows himself the small pleasure of placing his broad hand over hers, letting her feel the coolness of his skin but not folding his fingers over hers or trapping it in any way. "There are drawbacks to all of that. You will be my hands in daytime, my eyes and ears always. I will ask things of you that you might find difficult or distasteful." He purposefully leaves out the bond, the depth of servitude she will feel, the need and the jealousy. Those will come in time, she doesn't need to worry herself with them. "You will have to ingest my blood one way or another, or it will all go away. All of it."

He squeezes her hand then, only once. "You will be bound to me. As long as I live, you would serve me."

Every answer opens a door to a new question and she’s forgotten more questions than she’s asked at this point. “Wait, what would happen if you commanded,” the word feels heavy on her tongue, but it’ll have to do, “me to perform something physically impossible, like a backflip from standing, right here and now?” She’s actually a little worried about breaking her neck if she tried, the health benefits of becoming one of his assistants didn’t seem to cover severed nerves. 

Val scratches her nails over Garrick’s kneecap, half-absentmindedly, enjoying the sound of the threads against her nails. His hand over hers is cool and she swears she can feel the shallow ridges of his palmprint against the back of her hand. As he describes the increases in sensual acuity, she swears she can feel, taste, hear and see them all clicking into place. There’s only a few pieces of the puzzle left to figure out, the biggest one is how she got here in the first place. 

“I don’t remember drinking your blood last time I was here… now I know there’s a lot I don’t remember about that night, but I think that would’ve made an impression.”

"You would know your own limitations, you might try, and you would feel the sting of failure. That's why I wouldn't ask that of you. I could demonstrate, if you like. Something benign but difficult that you could fail without harm."

His eyes dart up to her face again, reading the confusion and deep thoughts weighing on her. "You have to understand, for me, for those like me, the blood is everything. It is life, it is sustenance, it is power, and it is all I have. In frankly medical terms, I don't produce tears or saliva or sweat. When you kiss me, you taste coppers, when you please me sexually, you taste far more of it." He lifts his hand then, gently brushing his fingertips over her temple and staring into her eyes, connecting himself to her mind and calling up the moment he spilled over her glorious tongue, down her throat filling her with that thin red fluid. "Remember it, Val. Remember what it tasted like, how it felt the moment I gave you that gift."

He closes his eyes then, cupping his cool palm against her cheek to feel the sweet press of her warm skin as the memory washes over him too. Bitter, frustrating, but not without the sweetness and tingling pull of orgasmic desire. "I helped you forget the things you wouldn't believe without knowing what you know now."

The full force of the memory slams into her mind, and the fuzzy scraps with which she had been fueling her late night masturbation sessions is suddenly put to shame with the bright details of the actual event. The way Garrick’s hands released her hair as he spilled down her throat, the absolutely sinful sounds he made as she worked him through his orgasm with her tongue. 

Val shifts in her seat, her cock achingly hard at the physical sensations of the full technicolor memory implanted in her brain. She can feel the first beads of precome soaking through her brand new panties and the head of her cock trying to escape through the diamond-shaped openings in her fishnet tights. Her nipple rings scrape against the inside of the cups of her new bra and if she wiggles her shoulders to increase the friction, well, nobody here is going to judge. “Robert,” she pants, desperately. She’s been keeping herself at bay, keeping her desire in check all night and she can’t fight against the deep need anymore. “Less tell, more show, please,” she begs as she brings the hand not touching her face up to her breast. 

The lure of temptation is always at his neck, the flaw he bears in enjoying that close proximity to almost feeling alive again. He feels her skin grow warmer under his touch as the memory overtakes her, his eyes opening at the desperate plea in her voice and instinctively understanding what he’s awoken. He’s learned to steel himself against David’s desperation, the way he flaunts need at the most inopportune times, but this is different. This is part of what tonight is about, part of ensuring that she understands that her life is no longer hers and it is still better to be in servitude than in the grave.

His long fingers curl against the softness of her breast, squeezing hard and sliding the flat of his thumb over hard metal and flesh through rough lace. He could tell her to stop, she would obey he’s certain even at the expense of her own obvious need. He won’t. Perhaps after she’s seen the monstrous side of him without clouding her mind she’ll better understand why some would take the option of death. “Val.” He says firmly, no longer needing to meet her eyes to command her he glances toward the open bedroom door and considers the options. “Go sit on the edge of my bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoyed. There’s more to come!


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